


Throw Away the Flowers

by audrarose



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-14
Updated: 2010-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audrarose/pseuds/audrarose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the schmoop bingo prompt 'cloud watching', which I decided should be done with as much h/c as possible. Plus porn. Oh, WOW, do I love this show. (Title swiped from Sia's 'Clouds')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throw Away the Flowers

They finally make it to the beach long after dark, but not long enough after the guys with guns and jeeps roar off to the other side of Molokai, hot on a false trail. Danny releases his death grip on Steve’s waist and allows McGarrett to fall onto the rocky sand. He hits a little harder than Danny intends, but McGarrett’s not exactly a ballerina and they’ve covered two miles through the steep jungle in about fifteen minutes, with Danny taking most of Steve’s weight. His arm shakes with exhaustion as he pulls out the satellite phone, which is the only way anyone can get a signal on this isolated _fucking_ rock in the middle of --

“Kono, here.”

“I got him,” Danny says.

“Are you in a secure location?” He can hear the relief behind her level tone.

“For the moment, but that isn’t gonna last. Triangulate my signal -- we need a pick-up, sooner rather than later, if you get me.”

“Working on it, Danny.”

Danny scans the beach, pistol drawn and ready. “You remember there are bad guys out here looking for us, right?”

“Affirmative, but according to GPS you guys came out north of Halawa Valley -- that bay's a mess. We need to come in dark with a Zodiac. The _Sirocco_ 's got a specialized extraction team on stand-by. We're scrambling now."

“The _Sirocco_? You kidding me?” Danny keeps his voice down with an effort. “You couldn't find anyone local?”

“Pearl's got the personnel and they say ETA fourteen minutes. And hey, the only person local who could do this is, well... Steve.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m drowning in the irony, believe me.”

She’s silent for a second. “What’s his condition?”

Good question. Ten hours with traffickers who knew he was a cop, ten hours of total radio fucking silence before Danny could get to him, when anything could have happened -- at first, Danny was just glad he was breathing. He falls to his knees next to Steve, who’s still slumped over where Danny dropped him.

“I don’t know. He’s really out of it,” Danny says.

“Head wound? Concussion?”

The first thing Danny did was check Steve for blood, a frantic, cursory once-over to make sure he wasn’t going to bleed out on the trail, but now he pulls Steve’s face up to his to study him more closely. Steve’s skin is frighteningly pale, even in the faint starlight, so Danny runs his hands over the shape of Steve’s skull, trying to be gentle, but losing it fast. This isn’t exactly the way he’d imagined it would go if he ever got to run his hands through Steve’s hair, but at least there are no depressions, no blood.

“Negative, but I can’t tell if--”

“What are you doing?” Steve’s voice is thready and his eyes are still closed, but he manages to sound wary and irritated all the same. He rests his head against Danny’s palm like he’s just too tired to hold it up and that, more than anything, sets off alarm bells in Danny’s brain.

“Trying to see if those assholes managed to concuss that concrete skull of yours. So shut up and let me check.”

“Syringe,” Steve says. It comes out like a sigh.

“What -- you telling me they shot you up with something?” Danny jerks the collar of Steve’s shirt away from his neck and there it is -- a dark, vicious bruise where someone jammed a needle into Steve’s throat. Danny lays his hand against it and finds a pulse with far too much time between beats. He thinks about how he’d like to kill a few people, in slow and excruciating ways.

Danny swears into the phone. “They drugged him,” he spits out. “Pulse is slow and weak.”

“Keep him awake, Danny.” It’s Chin’s voice now, tight and tense. “Listen to me -- there’s a trauma med-tech with the extraction team, but you can’t let him pass out before they get to you.”

Danny knows Chin is remembering the bodies that made Steve come out after these guys in the first place; three girls shot up with some unidentified substance that dropped them where they stood.

“Those kids were DOA --” Danny starts, but Chin interrupts.

“Steve’s got twice their body mass, there’s a chance -- just keep him talking until we can hit him with adrenalin. Do it!”

Danny doesn’t bother hanging up, just pitches the phone into the sand to get both hands in Steve’s shirt and pull him up to his knees. Steve’s head lolls forward and Danny shakes him, maybe a little too hard.

“McGarrett. Hey, come on -- look at me. You awake in there?”

“I’m okay.” Steve talks like he’s coming back from somewhere far away, somewhere Danny can’t follow and Danny’s thoughts whirl off into frantic, frightened places.

“Yeah? You’d be more convincing if you used vowels in that sentence. Now wake the fuck up.”

“Tired.” Breathed out like Steve doesn’t have the energy to take in another and Danny’s brain blanks out a little before he’s just _moving_ , dragging Steve to the edge of the water and making him kneel.

“Sorry about this, partner,” he says, right before the wave hits, breaking cold and shocking right over Steve’s chest and splashing up into their faces, so Danny’s sputtering, too. “Have some hypothermia.”

Steve turns his head toward Danny, t-shirt molded to his body, eyelashes wet and clumped together, starred out the way Gracie draws the rays of the sun. “Mother _fucker_...” he chokes out before he shivers, soul deep.

Danny wraps his arms around Steve’s chest and manages to drag him to one of the jagged, black boulders littering the beach. Pathetic shelter if anyone were really coming at them, but Danny falls against it anyway and the pitted surface scrapes the hell out of his back. Somehow he keeps Steve in front of him and they end up half-sitting against the rock with Steve sprawled out over Danny, damp head resting in the hollow of Danny’s shoulder.

“Gotta give your body something to do other than shut down,” Danny tells him. “So go on. Shiver.”

Steve shudders, hard. “Hate you.”

“Ditto. Tell me a story.”

“What?”

“A story. Make something up. Sing me a song. I don’t care, just talk.”

“Danno...” Still so weak, still _leaving_ him and fuck, fuck, that’s not happening, not in any world Danny would consider living in. He looks up, stares at a zillion stars and dark, scudding wisps of cloud. Nothing should be beautiful like that, not when Danny wants to scream at the sky.

“The clouds,” he says, a little desperate. “Tell me what the clouds look like. Come on, it’s a game.”

“A game.”

“Yeah, I’ll start. Look -- there’s me in the office, throwing things when I found out you took off without back-up. Off-duty, I might add.”

“Wasn’t time,” Steve murmurs. “Had to take the opportunity. Stowed away on their boat.”

“Uh-huh. Oh, and that next cloud’s me not buying that excuse anymore. Ever. Your turn.” Danny pulls Steve closer and fists his hand in Steve’s shirt, right over his heart so he feels each weak beat against his fingers. Counts them.

“Can’t...” Steve starts.

Danny pinches his arm. Hard. “Your turn.”

“Ow,” Steve complains. “Stop it.”

“I will when you tell me what you see.”

Steve tips his head back, damp hair brushing Danny’s cheek, eyes open to the sky but from this distance Danny can tell that he’s not focusing.

“Right there. That big one,” Danny says, his throat tight.

“Dust...?” Steve manages.

“Oh, come on, that’s lame. You can do better. Go on. Dazzle me.”

“Fine...” Steve swallows. Takes a breath like it hurts. “Waves. Off Ka’ena Point.”

“Of course. You look up, you see water. Why am I surprised.”

“Love it there,” Steve says, like Danny didn’t speak. “So quiet. Didn’t get a chance to show you.”

“So we’ll go when we get off this rock. We’ll have a fucking field trip.” Danny scans the dark water beyond the breaking waves. “Where the hell is that extraction team?”

Steve’s eyes drift shut; apparently he’s decided the question is rhetorical, so Danny shakes him some more. Settles him closer against his chest, legs tangled together, and oh, Danny wants the chance to do this again, somewhere with soft sheets and a lot less clothing. “What else do you see?”

“No more games. Tired.”

“Well, that’s too fucking bad,” Danny says, low and harsh, lips almost brushing Steve’s ear. He scans the ocean again, dread weighing sick and heavy in his gut.“That dark one near the peak is me dunking you in the ocean again if you don’t start talking. What’s that other one?”

That gets him slitted eyes and a shadow of Steve’s typical pissed off expression. “Me in bed. Asleep. You not talking.”

“What, I’m observing or something? I have better things to do than watch you sleep...” Danny’s just babbling now, scanning the dark water for movement, anything at all, but a sudden laxness in Steve’s body pulls him up short. “Steve? _Steve_.”

And then, thank God, there it is, a far-off light in the darkness, flashing in code. The goddamn zodiac coming in to pick them up. Danny raises his flash-light, flips it on and off twice in answer. “They’re here,” he says, relief coursing through him so swift and strong it makes him dizzy. Steve’s eyes are closed and his breathing’s gone shallow and faint, but help is pounding up the beach so Danny’s going to hang onto that with everything inside him. “They’re here,” he says again, mouth pressed close to Steve’s ear, even if he’s too far gone to hear it. “And trust me. If I ever get you in my bed, McGarrett -- I won’t waste time talking.”

**

Danny sits through an entire day cramped into the molded plastic chairs of the ICU waiting room, calculating the surface area of the floor based on the number of scuffed tiles beneath his feet and drinking some vile brew the hospital has the gall to call coffee. Danny thinks they have fucking balls of steel to serve that crap when you can’t walk ten feet in this town without someone practically throwing kona at you, but what are you gonna do. He would complain if he could concentrate on anything other than Steve’s slowing heart rate.

It’s eighteen awful hours before the doctors say Steve has made it past the danger point. Danny nods, wordless, and then immediately walks out the door into a typical, soft Honolulu night. He breathes in hibiscus and car exhaust as he drives away, and doesn't return for the entire three days the medical establishment manages to keep Steve from repelling out his hospital window and making a break for it.

**

They all grab a beer after Steve’s first day back at work. Danny considers begging off, but Kono wraps a hand around his arm and doesn’t let go until they’re installed on the lanai of the Shorebird bar while the sun goes down over the waves. It’s easy and it’s familiar and Danny’s still so angry with Steve he can’t put words together. He resigns himself to watching Kono peel the label from her beer and deliberately not watching Steve stretch himself back from the table, alive and whole but still far too exhausted around the eyes.

“Danny.”

He looks up when he registers his name, meets Chin’s curious gaze. “I asked you what you’re doing with the long weekend. You asleep over there?”

“Must be,” Steve says, mouth almost touching the lip of his bottle. “I have it on good authority that the only time Danny doesn’t talk is in bed.”

There’s a moment of silence around Steve’s words as Danny takes them in, ponders his options. Killing Steve isn’t realistic. Neither is shoving him down across the table and shutting him up with Danny’s tongue in his mouth, so Danny takes option three, and tosses a few bills at the check before heading for the parking lot.

“Come on, Danny. Wait up.” Laughter in Steve’s voice, and maybe killing him isn’t so out of the question, after all. The parking lot is deserted, the jungle right up against the space where Danny parked the Camaro, so it might be a few days before anyone found him...

“Danny.” There’s a hint of a plea, now, and that slows Danny’s steps. He turns, watches Steve make his way through the parking lot, every movement economical, graceful, like he’s on maneuvers. Danny hates him.

“You’re making jokes now,” Danny says. “Wonderful. I’m so amused.”

“You don’t sound amused. You sound pissed.”

“And I shouldn’t be?” The anger rushes up, swamps him again, like it’s still happening, Steve still slipping away without Danny to catch him. He jabs a finger into Steve’s chest, right over his heart. “You scared the living fuck out of me.”

“I know.” There might be remorse in there somewhere, but if there is, Steve’s buried it deep.

“You know. That’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“Hey, I know what you did for me,” Steve says, arms spread wide. “You think I don’t? You saved my life. I could have bought it on that beach, but you wouldn’t let me go. I know. What do you want?”

“Okay, how about this. I want to not have to save your life. I want to not be the only thing between you and oblivion, okay? I want --” Too many things. Impossible things. “Why is this so difficult for you to understand?” Danny finishes, but all the heat is gone.

Steve’s gone quiet, pensive, pulled into himself. “There’s nothing else you want?” No bravado, no teasing, like Steve really wants to know, like Steve is hoping...and how, how is Steve able to do that, drop the mask quick-silver fast and show Danny what’s inside, with no armor at all?

Well, Danny can turn on a dime, too, and he rushes at Steve, satisfied at his brief look of surprise as Steve’s back hits the car with Danny’s hands splayed high on his thighs, pinning him to the hood and pushing his legs apart so Danny can crowd up between. Steve’s breath hitches when Danny kisses him, brutal and hungry; he’s too stunned to react, maybe, but Danny isn’t going to wait for Steve to catch up. Steve’s balance is off and it’s nothing to push him back, lay him out on the hood of the car so Danny can crawl on top of him and press their bodies together like they were at the beach, with no spaces in between.

“Danny --” Steve manages, breathless.

“Shut up,” Danny says and sucks Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth, bites a little so talking isn’t an option. Like always, Steve won’t take direction and groans around Danny’s tongue anyway. That’s stupidly, terrifically hot, so Danny has to kiss him some more, messy and wet, has to touch everywhere he can reach even though their position is awkward, unbalanced. He swears to himself that he’ll do this again later; he'll sprawl Steve out on his bed and get his hands on him, his mouth, but for now it’s enough to rub himself hard against the jut of Steve’s hip. To press his fingers over the shape of Steve’s cock and feel him buck his hips.

“Fuck, Danny --” Desperate, and Danny likes Steve’s voice like this, broken and wanting him. He’s feeling pretty satisfied with himself for wrecking Steve’s composure when Steve decides to participate. Big hands close over Danny’s hips and then Steve just _moves_ him, shoves him over and lines up their hips so they’re moving hot and hard against each other, with way too many fucking clothes in the way. Everything just shuts down for Danny after that, everything that isn’t Steve’s mouth and Steve’s hands and Steve’s _cock_ , and fucking hell, maybe Danny wants to come, just like this, just rub off on Steve like they were teenagers in a parking lot...

Parking lot.

God.

Danny says the words into Steve’s mouth but they get swallowed up in Steve’s kiss, so Danny has to try again while Steve bites along his jaw.

“We’re still on the car,” Danny says, growling it against Steve’s ear and Steve lifts his head, eyes wild in the dark. Something must get through, because he swears and pushes himself off Danny, rakes a hand through his hair. He’s breathing hard, collar pulled out of shape, lips bitten red and bruises blooming on his neck from Danny’s teeth. There are places on Danny’s body that are starting to hurt in the shape of Steve’s fingers.

If they ever get around to fucking, they’re going to kill each other.

“Now what?” Danny asks, embarrassed at how hard it is to catch his breath.

Steve takes in their location in one swift, appraising glance, and turns toward the water.

“With me,” Steve says, like they’re infiltrating an enemy camp instead of ducking onto the beach to make out. Danny tries not to go a little hysterical with laughter, but fails miserably.

“Are we assaulting a beach, now?

Steve drags him into a stand of boulders, leans into the rock, pulls Danny up against him. “We can do that later...”

And if Steve is going to kiss him like this, urgent and sweet and so utterly, utterly _focused_ , then Danny isn't going to be responsible for what happens next, for pushing his hands up under the loose tails of Steve's shirt and finding the bare sides of his body, the smooth dip of his spine where it disappears into the waist of his pants. Danny's briefly grateful for Steve's choice of wardrobe, waistband loose enough for Danny to slide his hand inside, trace the groove of muscle over Steve's abdomen while he keeps Steve held close with his other arm.

"You gonna let me touch you?" Danny breathes into Steve's ear, face crushed against the side of Steve's head so he can feel every movement, every hitch of breath. "Can I do that?"

Steve's mouth is busy on Danny's neck, teeth finding every sensitive spot Danny has, but he nods, smiles against Danny's collar bone. "You're a goddamn tease, Williams... thought you said you didn't waste time talking... yes. _Yes_."

Danny smiles, too, because he could make Steve beg, but he's too eager to touch for that, too eager to feel Steve push hot and silken against his palm. He's already leaking over Danny's fingers so it isn't going to take much, but Steve isn't satisfied, it seems -- he pulls at Danny's pants, bares him to cool night air and adds his own hand.

Then everything narrows down to the intimate crush of bodies and hands that makes Danny frantic; right before perfect, slick friction makes him come, again and again until he's wrung out, with his mouth pressed into Steve's neck to muffle the sounds he can't keep inside. He breathes there for a minute, lets Steve hold him up while Steve's pulse races against his lips, hectic and tight.

"Heart's going like a jack-hammer," Danny murmurs. "I wish I'd known. I would have tried this back on Molokai."

"Well," Steve pants, shaky and bright. "Next time you’ll know."

Next time.

Danny just rests his head in the join between Steve’s shoulder and neck, because it’s probably safer if he doesn’t say anything at all.

Steve breaks the long silence. “Hey. You want to name some clouds?” The laughter is back in his voice.

“Shut up.”

“No, really. I see bunnies. Rainbows. Maybe a unicorn.”

Danny smirks against Steve’s shirt. “Seriously. Shut up. Any time, now.”

“And that one’s me,” Steve says, mumbling a little. “Apologizing. Or something.”

Danny sighs, makes sure it’s loud enough for Steve to hear. “Yeah, well I’m sure there’s one of me up there, too. Accepting my fate.”

Steve laughs a little and Danny lifts his head, pushes away from Steve. Steve stares back at Danny a little warily. Danny looks him over. He’s messy and gorgeous and Danny made him this way, which will never stop being amazing. And a worthy goal.

“Come on,” Danny says. “I want a bed for the rest of this. Preferably with you in it.”

Steve smiles up at the sky. “That can be arranged.”

All comments appreciated, either here or [or at my fic journal](http://blood-roses.livejournal.com/4121.html).


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